


The Alegbra of the Moment

by T Verano (t_verano)



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Angst, Community: sentinel_thurs, M/M, Sentinel Thursday, TSbyBS-related angst, this is sort of a missing-scene-thoughts fic taking place within TSbyBS itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 19:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18901123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_verano/pseuds/T%20Verano
Summary: A little TSbyBS angst. (TSbyBS exists, therefore it produces angst. And fic. :-))Takes place before Blair's press conference. Obviously. :-)





	The Alegbra of the Moment

**Author's Note:**

> written for Sentinel Thursday challenge 519 'reason'

_The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing. ~ Blaise Pascal_

**The equations : **  
    Vulnerability = Emotional Engagement2  
    Reaction = Trust-Vulnerability

**The variables : **

**Emotional engagement:**  
You live with the guy for a couple of years, you _let_ him live with you for a couple of years — hell, you spend even five minutes with him — and he gets under your skin. He's like a mosquito at midnight; you can hear the whine coming as the fucker targets some (stupidly) unprotected part of you, but by the time you realize where it landed you're too late, the itch is planted under your skin and it's all you can do not to scratch it. 

(Good itch, bad itch. Sometimes it's one, sometimes it's the other, sometimes it's both. It's a moot point, anyway. One thing you've learned — the hard way — is that scratching that itch might feel good for the moment, but as soon as you stop, you need _more:_ nature's vicious circle. What you do — what you _have_ to do — is tough it out, keep your hands off, let the itch fade. 

It's supposed to fade. Eventually.)

 **Vulnerability:**  
So there he is, under your skin, right where you never wanted him to be. The thing is, he's been around too many times when the shit's hit the fan, and he's come through it all with you. 

(The thing is, you hear him breathing at night. You hear his heart beating. You know what he sounds like when he's jerking off. You know what he looks like before he's really awake, before he's showered and had coffee, before he's "on." You know what he smells like when he's afraid, when he's horny, when he's happy. 

You know what it feels like to have him have your back.

You know what it feels like to trust him. To… almost trust him. To want to trust him.)

 **Trust:**  
He's seen more of you — the you that you are now, fucked up with all this "sentinel" shit — than anyone else. You've _let_ him see more. Sometimes you didn't have much choice, sure… but still, he knows more about you than your boss, than your own family — Jesus, than your ex. Any of your ex's. 

You've listened to him (at least sometimes); he's led you around by your senses — if not your dick — so many times you've gotten used to it. Almost, anyway.

(You trusted him with… a lot. Not everything, but one fat hell of a lot. He was under your skin. 

Funny how you thought you were under his skin, too.)

 **Reaction:**  
You were wrong.

But Christ, you were right, too. Back at the beginning, when you didn't trust him at all, when he made no bones that he was looking for that brass ring first, last and always — Dr. Sandburg, TV shows, bestsellers, fame and fortune — you were _right._ You should never have let him in. It was never really about you, about Jim Ellison. It was never really about friendship or backup on the job or even all those (unacknowledged, pointless, _meaningless_ ) pheromones. It was about you, the freak of nature. You, the fucking _Sentinel._ You, the ticket to ride.

You let him in and he sold you out. He's scratching _his_ itch, now.

Scratching his itch and trying to have it both ways, with some kind of fancy dance about how it isn't his fault, he didn't mean for it to happen, _oops._

Bullshit.

You're done.

It's over.

Time to let it go.

(Time to let him go.)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I'm pretty sure my algebra sucks, negative exponents and all. (The only defense I can offer is that my geometry is worse. Which, yeah, not a defense. Sorry!)
> 
> 2\. So I saw the Pascal quote and there was Jim, throwing the ability to reason, to listen, to _hear_ , to not believe the worst of Blair flat out the window, because he was too hurt to be able to believe in anything but _pain_.
> 
> Until Blair holds his press conference, of course. (I still don't think reason really climbs back in through that window even after that; 'cause, you know, "Poof! Blair, you're a cop! Aren't things great?" stretches logic beyond the breaking point for me. (Or am I wandering into meta, instead of an innocuous, straightforward author's note? _Oops._ :-)))


End file.
